cuppa joe

A couple of days ago, in the midst of my boy's birthdaypalooza, I took a little moment to bask in the early afternoon sunshine and have a little rest cure.  I was annoyed by my headache. It had been a busy morning, complete with celebratory donuts and the unveiling and subsequent programming of his dream bounty: an iPod touch. My subtle plan had been to present him with this miraculous wonder and then slip out to the gym while he lost himself in cyber space.

I forgot about technology and my current bout of opposite-of-the-midas-touch syndrome. Of course I had to download a new version of iTunes. Of course I had to create a new account for him. Of course I kept getting an error message. By the time we had the damned thing up and running, it was all I could to to dash to the gym in time for an extra great workout (yay, Eric!)

After that, I had to shower at the gym due to plumbing related catastrophes that I refuse to discuss, and if you try to make me I will resort to rocking in the fetal position with my ears plugged tightly humming somewhere over the rainbow. So it wasn't until I was back home and freshly scrubbed that a headache started to nag. And it took me a few minutes of restorative vitamin D therapy to recall the obvious cause of my ailment. Caffeine withdrawal! Duh. As Ellie quipped, it takes a special kind of stupid to forget your morning Joseph.

So there I was. In the sun lounger with my headache and in dire need of coffee. I really couldn't visualize how I would possibly manage to drag my ass up and into the house to fix myself a pot. I had my phone though, and I texted Ellie:

I can't believe [my girl] doesn't know how to make me a cup of coffee. yet.     

And despite the fact that Ellie's and my conversation naturally turned toward daytime drinking and autocorrect, all the while I was coaching my girl on how to master the life affirming task of making me a cuppa joe.

I coached her through it. First she put six scoops of beans into the grinder - I noted that the scoops had to be full, I'm all too familiar with her unique sense of measurement. My heart danced happily to the sound of the whirring blades making quick work of those little beans. She did the requisite tap-tap-tap of the grinder on the counter before filling the basket with freshly ground coffee.

Next step was to measure the water. She checked in for quality assurance. 

Perfect.

There was a moment of doubt after she poured the water into the machine, she was quite concerned that the hot water would have no way in if she did as I asked and replaced the lid on the carafe. 

Eventually, she reluctantly agreed to Trust Her Mother. For God's sake. 

After getting the water in and turning the brew button to on, there was not much to do while we waited for the magically resplendent sounds and smells that  were sure to follow. So we basked.

Some more stylishly than others.

Almost soon enough, the lovely beep let us know that my joe was ready! My girl leapt into action. This was the hardest step: putting the perfect amount of milk into the mug before pouring in the hot coffee.

I'm sorry the photos are all tilty. Did you think I was going to get up and try harder? I'm no Schlekah.

She brought the mug out to me approximately 42 times, each trip demonstrating at least one additional drop of milk. When she finally got it perfect, we rejoiced!

My long awaited cuppa Joe.

And that, my friends, is how barristas legends are born.